


Turned Against the Veil

by fanfreak



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Character Study, F/F, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn, The Fade, back to kirkwall, blood magic and binding, did i mention the fade?, enchantment?, i like spirits, probably smut free, so much so little time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfreak/pseuds/fanfreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was never more clear that the Inquisition's inner circle had ambitions of their own than when Solas left. But to Holland Lavellan, this had been her clan and the reason she could agree to be Inquisitor. She struggles with a loss she hasn't had to feel in some time while her friends struggle with their guilt. Despite the death of Corypheus, forces still move against the Inquisition and in her dreams there are whispers... 'It's in the...'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Good writing should stand for itself, so I'll try not to explain myself too much. This is a post game fanfic, however, exploring some of my ideas and theories. Some of it can easily fit lore, some of it might be a little more wobbly. This is a Solas/Lavellan fic at its heart but with my perspective on their romance, which means it'll likely be smut free. Sorry if that's what you were hoping for.
> 
> As for the title, I decided to keep with the pattern of Inquisition's main missions: it's a line from the Chant of Light

_Forget_.

Sound returned to Holland Lavellan's ringing ears as she pushed up from the blood slick ground. Somewhere behind her her bow lay forgotten, but not before an arrow was sunk deep into a Tevinter's stomach. A dagger she'd pulled from her belt stood straight out from the skull of the final enemy. She'd been disoriented by the fire blast so close to burning off her face, leaving her eyes watering and almost deaf when the final one came in sight...

Her arms still shook from the exhertion but she spun in a circle. She remembered Sera calling out for help within a stream of curses, Blackwall nearly disappearing under a swarm of the Venatori ambushing them in the night. Then she'd been boxed into her own fights, pumping out arrows as fast as she could leap away, leaving no room for finesse. The rogues and the warriors had gone quick enough but ithout her armor she couldn't afford to absorb even a small amount of the magic the mages were throwing at her.

But she'd tired quickly, muscles burning from exhertion. Then her shoulder burning literally from the fireblast. When Holland pulled back her bowstring it was for the last time, her arms aching too much for a second draw. The second mage swept at her with the blad end of his staff and Holland only barely managed to fall backwards out of reach, and not at all gracefully. Her enemy pointed the end of his crackling staff at her chest as she fumbled with arrow and string to get them to match, heaving in breaths.

Then she... forgot it, choosing to pull out the dagger and jamming it through the Venatori's eye with a satisfying squish.

"Think there was any particular reason for the attack other than 'hey, you killed our almost god boss man, yeah,'?" Sera huffed. She had come closer only to lean over, hands braced on her knees. Sweeat streamed down her youthful face but otherwise she seemed fine.

"Search them," Holland ordered, waving a still weakened arm at the fallen men. Maybe like so many other bands of enemies before, they'd have their orders and reasons tucked within their packs ready to be read. Any sign would be useful to hand off to... Josephine probably. Leliana was far too busy these days.

The young archer threw her a dirty look. "Anything else your Ladybits?"

"Not now Sera!" Holland snapped. Her stomach dropped in anticipation of Sera getting an attitude with her; they'd always been on rocky road with each other.

Instead, despite her angry "Yeah, sure, whatever" Sera wore a look of concern. Like she expected the Herald of Andraste to burst to pieces at any moment. Something Holland ignored in favor of continuing to turn on the spot. She was looking... looking for something...

"Blackwall?" she said, feeling a moment's panic. "Blackwall?"

"Here, my lady," he grunted, sitting up. Other than a gash on his forhead he seemed rather unhurt. Mostly tired. "A mage might have been useful," he muttered to himself.

Elven ears allowed her to hear it anyways... but she did not get the familiar pang. An entirely different one came over her and her silver-green eyes fell to the dagger. A hundred little pieces fell from the hard rock in her chest she'd clung to since she was a child and realized that even amongst her people, she was alone.

"I'll pack. We'll return to Skyhold..." Holland muttered, snatching up the dagger. Her eyes caught on her bow and she leaned over to snatch it up. One half tumbled back to the ground, the string finally snapping where it had been nicked. When had that happened...

She could feel the eyes on her and Holland straightened to get away from it. They likely exchanged a glance, Blackwall and Sera, those two unlikely friends. Both asking the same silent question.

Why was the Inquisitor crying?

It was the same question she was asking.  
xxx  
Varric walked out of the tavern scratching the back of his head. He'd gone in there for some reason, he knew it, but then got caught up telling stories about Hawke to Krem instead. The two had hit it off for the few hours that Hawke had been able to stick around.

But Varric was sure he'd meant to do something else. Ah, it was probably to drink for a reason he'd forgotten. He did end up doing that, but with company and a good story was a far better way to do it.

"You're Inquisitorialness!" he greeted as the elven woman strode straight to the tavern. "I didn't realize you were going to be back so early. Care to-"

"Not now, Varric," Holland said in a shorter tone than he'd ever heard before from her. Well, apart from when she had to speak to Vivienne. "I simply want a drink."

"That kind of day, huh?"

She grunted, pushing heavily through the door to slouch toward the bar while Varric was left to feel guilt slip over him. As if in answer to that slimy feeling, he heard the crunch of all too familiar boots come around the corner.

"She seems in a foul mood," the Seeker commented. She held her arms crossed, hands holding her opposite elbows and swaying in a way he'd come to read as concerned indecision. Turns out that when she wasn't already making a brash decision, the Seeker wasn't too good at deciding on decisions.

Which was why they had a Dalish elf as the Inquisitor of Thedas. Varric felt damn lucky with that turn of events, actually. The elf at least liked him! Even if she had a lecture waiting for him almost as often as she had one for Sera. Unlike Sera, he was old enough to see it as her way of caring for him and didn't take it nearly as personally.

He did take it personally, however.

"Can you blame her?" Varric scoffed.

The Seeker turned her gaze down sadly on Varric, shaking her head slightly. Now he felt bad for treating her like an idiot. Shit, he may have had one too many to drink.

"No, I suppose not," she sighed. "Solas disappears, Vivienne leaves..."

"I thought Holland kicked her out." Varric frowned. He honestly couldn't remember. He'd been standing right there, by the fireplace, as Holland chased Vivienne down the stairs and out the rotunda. For the life of him he couldn't remember anything that had been said.

"She had Cullen remove Vivienne from the premises, yes," the Seeker agreed. But the bridge of her nose wrinkled, as if she too were struggling to remember. "And the Wardens are on their way to bring Blackwall into their fold."

"Leliana will be off to play Divine, you'll be off seeking out Seekers..." Varric sighed and ran both of his hands through his hair. Andraste's ass, now he really did feel guilty.

"And you?"

"Yes!" Varric half snapped. It hadn't been an accusation, Cassandra had merely been asking... "I'm planning on-"

"Did I hear that Holland was back?"

They looked up to see Dorian striding toward the tavern, two books and a wad of paper held under one arm. From his strangely harried look it was clear what the commotion upstairs had been earlier that day. Varric had only to spare a glance with the Seeker to put her on the same track.

As one, Varric and Cassandra stepped forward to catch Dorian by the arms and spin him the other way.

"Not now!" the Seeker hissed. "And by that I mean she is but-"

"What the Seeker is so eloquently trying to say," Varric sighed, "is that our Lady Inquisitor is having a bad enough day without hearing that more of her friends are leaving."

"Her _best_ friend, even," the Seeker pushed.

Dorian glanced between the two of them, shock eating away at his face. Yes, yes, Varric wanted to say. They were the most unlikely of pair to be teaming up in anything. But heck... Holland had probably become the best friend Varric had since Hawke was left in the Fade. They didn't quite have the same relationship. But that came from one being the powerful leader of the Inquisition and the other being a simple storyteller. Despite the difference in power, Varric trusted Holland. More than, well, anybody...

Shit. Where did this introspection suddenly come from?

"It's not just about leaving!" Dorian insisted after a moment of silence. "Though I like how you both assume the worst of me. But there's something I need to tell her..."

"Not _now_ , Tevinter!"

Varric watched closely at the page Dorian had begun to pull out, as if to share with them what he wanted to share with the Inquisitor. But even before the Seeker shut him down, the mage had gone pale and tucked it back in. What had made him suddenly feel unsafe about waving the information around? Was it Varric or Cassandra? He doubted it since Holland would undoubtedly tell them.

"Ah, never mind," the Tevinter mage said in a sulking voice, walking away from the tavern of his own accord.

"What was that about?" Cassandra asked.

"I don't suppose you caught the titles of those books?" Varric asked, plucking nonchantly at his gloves.

"Some Tevinter titles the Inquisitor had dug up for him," the Seeker said impatiently. "What of it?"

And there was that rudeness again that rankled Varric. "Nothing, Seeker, nothing."  
xxx  
Leliana stirred, at the desk Solas had once used, as the Tevinter mage rushed down the stairs, carrying two books and some half crumbled pieces of paper. He had been half packing and half tearing the library apart for the better part of two days. Sometimes Leliana even caught him puposefully _un_ packing.

He still wasn't certain he wanted to leave even if he had every reason to. His loyalty and friendship to the Inquisitor tied him more strongly to this place than he probably cared to admit. On some days, Leliana was convinced that was the very reason he pushed so badly to leave. Dorian made most of his headway while the Inquisitor was gone, after all.

Leliana sighed and reach for her tea, finding it honey sweet and yet oddly cold when she took a sip. "That's odd. I could have sworn I only just poured it..."

She looked around the room, gathering from the shadows in the foyer beyond that it was actually much later than she expected. She must have dozed off and forgotten about it. A shame because it was just the right flavor for her tea that only one person she could remember had ever gotten right...

A smile touched her face as she pushed notes aside to look lovingly upon the letter the proclaimed Hero of Ferelden had sent her. Leliana loved calling her Sereda Aeducan that to everybody. It felt like it made what they had together even more private. As few moments as they were, and to remain few with things the way they were.

_"Sodding nuglickers!" Sereda swore, pacing up and down. She said a few more choice other things, kicking dirt toward the fire as Leliana watched on, trying not to giggle. It wasn't the sight of a dwarf pacing or that her lover was only half dressed that had her so amused._

_It was funny that her sweet Aeducan, once a dwarf noble, was swearing. Despite her heavy disdain for Oghren because he was disgustingly 'not dwarven,' Sereda had picked up on some of his colorful traits. She would hate it if Leliana pointed it out, though._

_"They can't seriously mean to do this!" Sereda finally finished in exasperation. She gestured a hand toward where the letter was tucked, crumpled in a ball but safe in a bag. The Warden messenger who had brought it had been most uncomfortable about finding two women half clothed, drying out from a dunk in the river. He also seemed to find it hard to believe that the Hero of Ferelden was actually a dwarf. He'd been told. But actually staring at somebody half your size..._

_There really weren't many dwarf Wardens. Sereda was exceptional in more ways than one._

_Leliana pulled herself together to sigh and gesture her lover back toward her. "I don't really understand the problem."_

_"I_ can't _be the Warden-Commander, Leli!" Sereda sighed, shoulders dropping forward. Exhausted and defeated, she walked over, beggining to sit down next to Leliana only to be pulled into the bard's lap._

_"Why not?" Leliana said, actually laughing now. She started running her fingers through the dwarf's soft chestnut hair, meaning to put in her usual braids. Since the end of the Blight it had begun growing past the hero's shoulders. It likely would need to be cut soon. "You'll make an excellent leader. You have already."_

_"Are you kidding me?" Sereda snorted. "The moment Alistair gave me leeway and we had supplies from Lothering I was off running to Orzammar! I almost didn't make it to Redcliffe in time, almost incited the werewolves to wipe out the Dalish elves and even considered going against Wynne at the circle. I make a terrible leader."_

_"I thought," Leliana said softly, kissing just behind Sereda's ear, "you did wonderfully. There are a lot of 'almosts' in there, no? Besides, you said the point of making Alistair king was because he didn't want it, and men who don't want power are often the best with it. After you saw Orzammar in chaos, you didn't want the power anymore. Not as King of Orzammar and not as the warden. But you did what you had to because you were the only one that could. You'll make a fine Warden-Commander simply because, with your own logic, you don't want it. And I'll be here waiting for you to finish your duties. We have time."_

_Silence fell on the pair and if it weren't for the furrow on Sereda's brow, Leliana would have pushed it to more pleasant silence. Well, as silent as love making could be. Instead she stowed away her amorous thoughts to continue braiding locks of the dwarf's hair down the sides and then longer ones to connect in the back in a loop._

_It was Aeducan tradition to keep the hair as long as reasonably possible without pinning it out of the way. The confidence needed to go into battle with hair that could easily get in the face or in the way of grabbing a sword strapped to the back made a strong impression. For this, Sereda had never been considered traditionally beautiful in the dwarven kingdom, seen more on par with her brothers. Strong, brave, even smart. Never beautiful._

_So Sereda was always shocked whenever Leliana called her that. It wasn't even about looks, which were pleasant and exotic all at the same time. But the dwarf had a scornful wit that kept a raging fire of commitment and fierce loyalty in check. She might insult but it was usually with the intention of toughening a person up. Yet as a rogue she was graceful, dancing with her twin blades as one might with a fan at a fancy party. She was also far too hard on herself for failure, even the perceived kind._

_Probably especially the perceived kind. Sereda came from the stone, surely and she was indeed hard. Harder than most would come to understand. But underneath it all..._

_"Do we, Leli?" The soft, mournful voice nearly broke Leliana's heart. She couldn't answer - time was something none of them had an answer for - only twist her head to take Sereda's mouth in a long, deep kiss that she could treasure in the time's to come._

And still Leliana had to treasure it. It and a letter that did its best to hide the bitterness Sereda must be feeling. Leliana wondered how her lover would react when she found out Leliana would now be Divine. She found herself almost humbled in the knowledge that Sereda would not like it at all. Leliana wanted it too much.

She also had not been pleased about Leliana going to help Justinia. The words "Fuck the Chantry, fuck the Divine" had been uttered many a time. Though they'd faded as Sereda became aware nothing would change. They would have their few days and separate again. Leliana half believed the story about chasing down a "cure" for the Calling was an obsession, not an actual belief it was possible, to ignore that they weren't getting the story they planned. Planned while the Darkspawn were still invading Ferelden and they were sure they were going to die.

It was probably worse that they both lived and yet here they were, a continent between them and only a few stolen nights by the fireside to tell of their love.

Somebody cleared their throat suddenly behind her.

Leliana whipped around, half standing before she recognized Dorian in the entry way to the rotunda. Yes, she'd been extremely spacey of late if she was going to zone out twice in the space of a day. Cooling tea was one thing. Being snuck up on by a mage whose very clothes might as well be shouting was another entirely.

"Learning anything of our absent elven apostate sitting at his desk?" Dorian asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh..." Leliana glanced back at the desk, pushing papers around to hide the letter. "No. I got... sidetracked." And not by Sereda. There were things to be finished before she could go through with becoming the Divine. Both for the Inquisition and the Chantry. Leliana had little time to focus on the task the Inquisitor had given her.

Dorian _tsked_ to hide his dark dissaproval and likely guilt. Yes, Leliana ought to set aside all of her plans and goals to focus on Solas but Dorian could continue to plot out how to change Tevinter while leaving the Inquisition behind.

Leliana left the bitter thoughts to herself. If she wanted to cut Dorian, she could do so with more cunning than that. He had a hand on this knife already. Leliana would rather use the one he did not see coming. "If you're interested in what little research I have done..." She picked up the packet of papers.

They were gone before she could blink. "When you want something done..." Dorian muttered to himself. It continued on as he mounted the steps but Leliana did not catch them.

She turned instead to her cold tea, considering pouring herself a new cup...

Instead nostalgia overwhelmed her and she picked it up, drinking her cold tea while reading her lover's letter and wishing for once that she could push herself to cry. Instead she felt a panging emptiness that could not be filled except with coldness and duty.  
xxx  
Somewhere, deep in the west from Skyhold, an elven apostate stirred next to his campfire. Solas felt a strange... reaching through the fade. Something grabbing for him but cut short, not quite making it there.

And yet he recognized it. Wished he didn't. Wished he didn't know why it hadn't been able to reach him.

Despite the nearnness of the fire, a chill settled in Solas. He bowed his head, ears pricking to the wolf howls that started in the distance. "I'll remember," he whispered to the empty night. "Cole..."


	2. A Dreaming not Dreamt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death drips down from daggers poised above her bed and in the chilling darkness of her dreams. Whether caught by a desire to answer the whispering of her mind or to find an answer to these assassins, Holland must find a new path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't yet tested if romancing Blackwall pretty much to completion and then breaking up with him and then romancing Solas is possible... But for the sake of fanfiction that is what happened. As much as I love the deepness of the Solas romance, I love Blackwall. Plain and simple. The man is plain and simple and he deserves a plain and simple ending.

For likely the fifth time Blackwall checked his rucksack, as if there was anything he could reasonably have forgotten. There was nothing he wanted that he could take with him…

He blew out a breath, checking out the window to see how far the sun had come up. He’d meant to get out while it was still dark, but the beating from those damn Venatori caused him to sleep for a good chunk of time. Somebody was bound to see him leaving, but with any luck _she_ would still be sleeping. It could even be the bad kind of luck. Maker knew he didn’t care anymore, he just wanted to spare her some sort of pain if he could.

Bag over his shoulder, Blackwall descended the steps from the hayloft where he had long kept his bed. He’d had far worse sleeping arrangements over the years, but Lady Lavellan had often insisted he go somewhere more comfortable. It was nothing suggestive even when… She simply cared, wanted to look out for him. Even after they were over she’d come with her grin and clucked her tongue at the bed, waxing poetical about soft downy beds.

“Don’t you sleep in forests?” he’d snapped once out of frustration.  
  
And Lavellan had laughed, wrinkling the lines of the tree tattoo she had on her face. She usually countered him with laughter. “We still like cushions underneath us and protection from the rain. I’m not an amphibian that can burrow its way into the mud.”  
  
“My apologies, my lady.”  
  
“I can never tell what I’m going to get with you. Mountain man savage or gentle giant noble.” And when she laughed that time there was a sadness to her eyes.  
  
He couldn’t change that she would always be his lady. Even when she’d strode from Haven and past the blacksmith, ashen face and shaking, trying not to look like she was running after her encounter with Alexius. The time travel had shaken her to her core, though she didn’t dare show it. But Blackwall caught it anyways, following her down through the brush to the side of the frozen lake.

They hadn’t spoken. He’d simply stood at her elbow as she crouched in the snow, struggling to take in her breaths. After an hour she’d stood and apologized. He’d bowed. “My lady.” And he’d left with the image of tear glittering eyelashes fluttering in soft surprise seared into his brain. She’d dogged him from then on and he couldn’t be rid of her if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to. He never wanted to… But he was relieved when she finally did. It was a freedom, in a way.

Movement caught his attention and he turned sharply. A leg hung from the door of the stables, swinging lazily to a melody still silent to him. Despite his suspicions, Blackwall moved across the barn to spot Lavellan lying out on the thin top of the stable door. One hand she had outstretched to her hart where it munched oats from her palm, the other held a piece of straw to her lips.

“Good morning,” she said lazily.

“My lady, did you need something from me?” Blackwall asked. He steeled himself for the response, any of them. Perhaps most of all if she said nothing at all.

“No… yes. Hmmm… no.” She laughed as she sat up, stretching out her back. It was a hollow laugh, devoid of light in her eyes and the wrinkles it so often caused. Even without the tree marking her face, he would have noticed them if they appeared. “It was a lovely night. You missed it. You also snore.”

Pink brightened Blackwall’s cheeks to think of the Inquisitor being nearby while he slept. In his bed… On the road, in their camps was one thing. They had separate tents and… Their relationship had simply never made it to that level and he was uncomfortable about the implications that she came to visit him during the night. That she might be disappointed that he was sleeping already. What might have been different if he’d been awake?

“It’s better this way,” Blackwall said, looking away.

“You’re right.” She took a step forward and teetered, eyes glazed.

“And you’ve had some to drink,” he noted. He reached out a hand to take her elbow and she didn’t shake him off. He’d seen her drunk before, once, with Iron Bull and this was not it. But Lavellan did not usually imbibe.

“Going to sweep me off my feet, my Warden in shining grey armor?” Lavellan teased.

Blackwall chuckled. “I’m not a warden yet.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled, starting the chain reaction of a deep frown. “You’re a warden to me. You always have been. And you don’t have to do this anymore. I’m the Inquisitor, I can tell them you’re more use here and…”

Though shaken deep inside, Blackwall held up a hand to cut her off. “You made the decision and it was the right one. If you start taking things back now, how will anybody trust a decision the Inquisitor makes again?”

An unreadable mask settled on the Inquisitor’s face as she stared up at Blackwall. It was an ability she had built up over the growth of the Inquisition, but she’d never used it with her friends he’d noticed. Until now, it seemed. Whatever emotions warred inside her, she clearly wished to spare Blackwall from knowing them.

“What will I do without my moral compass?” she sighed, a small true smile brightening her face.

“Make the decisions you know are right without regard of what I say?”

The slight elf lurched forward, wrapping her arms around his chest. He stared down at the top of her head, where it barely brushed his beard and wondered how he didn’t see her as a child. She was technically younger than him, though not as young as she appeared. But Blackwall had seen her first as a warrior, pinning down bandits and thieves with quick precise arrows, purpose shining in her eyes.

A smirk cut at the corner of her cheek as he awkwardly pat his hand on her back. “It wouldn’t have made it easier, you know. It wouldn’t have made it harder but at least this way we get to say good-bye.”

She always did see right through him. There were days Blackwall had been convinced that she knew. She had to have known that he was hiding, that he was lying, and yet she stuck through it. Whatever made her finally break it off, it wasn’t about Thom Rainier, it probably wasn’t even about Blackwall. And he probably felt too much bitter satisfaction that he stuck with her until the end unlike a certain elf.

“You should get some rest,” Blackwall said gently, taking her elbow again to pull away.

Sad silver-green eyes stared up at him from a face that had been wiped clean of her most obvious Dalish trait. A "gift" from Solas. One Blackwall would have argued, with the same logic she had agreed to never call him Rainier. But of course Blackwall had not been asked to weigh in on her relationship with her new paramour.

As if following his thoughts, Lavellan's lips formed a silent 'oh,' misery crashing down upon her. Crushing her. "Be safe, Blackwall." She touched his face one last time before turning and sprinting for the side entrance to the castle.

He kept the feel of that touch as he grabbed a horse and left Skyhold. He stopped at a ridge to look back at what had been a home, now only a resting stop on his path. Where a love he held remained, sparkling, even as the woman that bore it seemed to be fading. He kept telling himself that the selfish thing to do would be to stay, to court her again like he properly should have the first time.

But in his deepest heart he knew that wasn't true. She deserved it. For all she'd done, all she'd put up with. The only problem was that it could not be him.

Only an hour later he came across the Wardens, apologizing to them for seeming over eager. They, on the other hand, did seem relieved that they did not have to travel all the way to Skyhold. The Inquisitor did not bare a great love for the Wardens. Stroud was not with them, but Blackwall spoke with them easily enough.

And as they progressed toward the west he came to realize they knew him only as Blackwall. His past, his indentity, they were unaware. It was her doing, it had to be.

It would be the last thing is Lady Lavellan would give him and his heart rose in his chest. He was Warden Blackwall.  
xxx  
 _You've forgotten. But it's there..._

It came upon her suddenly. As if she'd been running in the void only to come across solid ground and solid walls. All dark, the ceilings curving up out of sight but held up by buttresses carved into remarkable and yet somehow gruesome shapes. It was dark, dank and yet she was compelled to keep moving forward.

The presence of death pushed in around her until she could hear moans. But footsteps also. She picked up her pace again, following...

Her eyes flashed open, catching the figure looming over her. Holland let out a cry and threw out her arm to catch the dagger. It tore into flesh, but a quick kick into the would be assassin's stomach sent him stumbling back. From under her pillow she drew the blade she'd used to kill the final Venatori during the ambush. She lashed out, catching the man in the throat before he could retaliate again.

He gurgled, clutching at his throat and falling to his knees. Eyes looked at her wide with terror and pain. After a few seconds, all that could be seen was white and he crumpled to the ground.

"Inquisitor!"

"A little late, Commander," Holland said, exhaustion etched in her voice. She had little care for Cullen's state of dress or that he was actually the one closest to run up here. In fact, maybe if she'd gotten proper sleep she'd be excited that he'd finally made a move on their adorable ambassador. The man deserved some proper happiness.

"My deepest apologies, Inquisitor," Cullen said, moving forward with his sword to check all of the corners for more assassins.

Holland groaned, rubbing at her forehead. Even though she couldn't physically feel it, she noticed the absence of her _vallaslin_ to Mythal. Ironic that she would be the god Holland would meet... especially after having drunk from the well.

Coaching her commander to be less formal and beat himself up less would have to wait. More soldiers were streaming into her room to help Cullen, and also to take away the dead body. Through a haze she wondered if she ought to check the body herself. Also whether it was connected to the ambush. Though how they got into Skyhold...

She grabbed up a robe, muttering some orders to Cullen before descending to the War Room. She was the first to get there and took the time to bandage the small cut on her forearm, but Cullen and Josephine were not far behind. Josephine showed a desire to fuss, but kept her hand clamped around her clipboard instead. The sight of her knuckles turning white made Holland unable to meet her eyes. For some reason the story of the bard Josephine had once pushed down the stairs popped into her mind.

Leliana arrived, finally, looking furious. "This should not have happened!"

"My life is full of things that should not have happened," Holland snipped. "Now what are we going to do about it?"

"Run a full investigation, of course," Cullen said coolly.

"On your soldiers, first," Leliana said. Her eyes were full fury, the blood might as well have been streaming through Skyhold already.

"My soldiers?" Cullen repeated, voice rising. "What about your agents? Aren't they supposed to be looking into everybody that comes through here?"

"What are you implying, Commander?"

"I imply nothing! I'm saying that your agents are either incompetent enough to let an assassin slip or somebody helped him inside!"

"The same could easily be said of the soldiers."

"I'm not the one leaving my post."

"And yet you're more distracted than I am!"

"Enough!" Eyes turned toward Josephine, everybody equally surprised she had been the one to raise her voice. Probably none more so than Josephine. "This infighting gets us nowhere." She looked to the Inquisitor a little helplessly.

"A full investigation would be wise," Holland sighed. Was the Inquisition so fragile that they would start fighting as soon as their most obvious enemy was defeated? Her companions left one by one and now her advisers disagreed at the drop of an arrow. She was too weary to rebuild again. She needed them in working order the way they were now. "On everybody. Including the kitchen staff or whatever."

Leliana and Cullen exchanged glances, nodding their begrudging agreement. The spymaster made to leave but Holland stepped in her way.

"I know you're leaving soon," she said quietly, though both knew Cullen and Josephine could hear. "And I know I've never been the firmest of Chantry supporters, but I know you're leaving to do good work. Whatever guilt or sadness is making you lash out, set it aside _lethallin_. We need to work together."

The meaning of the elvish word was lost on those gathered here, but Leliana seemed to realize it meant something. Her eyelids fluttered in surprise and she leaned back, glancing from the Inquisitor to Cullen. Eventually she bowed her head.

"Of course. You're right." Leliana turned to face Cullen. "My apologies commander. I hope you will bring your particular talents to this investigation."

"I..." Cullen's face seemed to puff up and he glanced from Josephine to the Inquisitor. A joke about being the only man in the room came to Holland's tongue, but she let it go. They didn't need that right now. "Of course... of course. I could do no less for my allies. My friends."

"Then we have an accord. I shall begin immediately."  
***  
Three more attempts were made over the next week to assassinate the Inquisitor. Leliana and Cullen were both in rage, though thankfully concurrently instead of antagonistically. The last had been an elven servant boy sent with a wagon to pick up most of Dorian's research materials. This sent the future 'White' Divine's wrath in his direction, of course.

"How can I keep on top of anything if you keep bringing wildcards into the equation?" Leliana hissed, practically breathing down his collar.

"Look, blame the Venatori for having very good bribers," Dorian huffed. He already felt awful at the strained look Holland had after she was forced to kill the boy. She'd always been gentler about despising the Tevinter slaving practices than Solas, but she still disapproved. To be forced to kill a fellow elf that honestly and likely had little choice in the matter... Well, Dorian didn't like being involved in it. Not even a little. "If the Inquisition wanted to give me access to decent funds I wouldn't be out bid so easily."

"No," the spymaster said, pulling back. Which was almost worse. Distance gave her more maneuvering room to stab him in the heart. "I think we shall postpone your trip and..."

"I think not." They both turned, surprised there had been no footsteps to warn them as Inquisitor Lavellan came up the stairs. She looked weary, physically and emotionally, but with a new determination in her eyes.

"Inquisitor?" Leliana asked warily.

"Dorian will continue his plans. In fact, I want you to speed up the process right now. Can we have him ready to leave by tomorrow?"

Dorian spluttered. Which was rather undignified but he couldn't believe that Holland would ever be in a rush to make him leave! Especially not with all of the others packing their bags. Soon it seemed it would only be Sera and The Iron Bull left and they weren't exactly the most reliable in the abstract. In a pinch, sure, but Sera was still a child and Bull was a mercenary. They went where the wind took them.

But more than that... Did Holland actually blame him for the rash of assassins? Did she suspect him of helping the Venatori into Skyhold? Why not confront him directly about it? Kicking him out didn't seem like the proper Inquisitor type thing to do! Certainly not for Holland who had no issues keeping Alexius around as a magical advisor...

He missed whatever final exchange Holland and Leliana had, only aware that the spymaster had left. Though he and the Inquisitor were hardly alone, it was more private now. Where that actually left them, he had no idea. Dorian half expected to see the back of her just as quickly as she'd come. Not that he'd let her. He wanted answers now!

"So... leaving for Tevinter?" Holland murmured.

"Apparently!"

He regretted his defensiveness immediately as the elven woman looked up at him, shock curving her mouth. Oh, who was Dorian kidding? He was leaving! What did it matter if it was tomorrow or next week when he could no longer put it off? That didn't mean his one and only friend needed to kick him out as of yesterday!

Holland ducked her head, looking away. Dark ebony hair that was usually pulled back in a half pony tail hung into her face. It made her look even more as if she hadn't gotten any rest in seven day. Probably more than that, but the last few days had been the roughest on her. Dorian fought with the urge to reach out and comfort her in some way. But how would he do that? Even if he had some basic idea on how decent human beings comforted each other, he wasn't even sure if they had that sort of relationship anymore. If they ever did.

"Would you like some company?" she asked. And when she raised her head all of the weariness had bled from her face. Steely, cool, and calm with just a hint of mischief. The Holland he knew and loved. "At least as far as the Free Marches."

"I... well." Dorian wasn't often caught off guard. He still wasn't entirely sure where they stood right now! He also did not appreciate being so utterly discombobulated. "Yes!" he answered finally, more earnestly than he would have liked to have sounded. "But what about your duties as the Inquisitor?"

"We need to draw this enemy out," Holland said, jaw tightening. "It's only a matter of time before they manage to hurt somebody, not just get people... hurt. Killed. Depending on what they know, they'll either ambush me away from Skyhold or they'll get sloppy enough for Leliana to catch them when I disappear."

"Clever."

"No, it's desperate, but go ahead and let everybody know how dashingly clever I am anyways."

"I thought that was my job!"

"You do it so well it must have rubbed off onto me."

"Scandalous!"

Easy laughter they had not been able to share in for weeks came over the pair. It trailed off after a few minutes, but not before Holland touched him gently on the arm. A simple, friendly touch. But it was enough to remind Dorian he had nothing to fear here. This was not his homeland and she was not his father...

Which reminded him once more of her plain face and a rage burned inside his chest. That Solas could easily change such a fundamental part of her... that she would let him! It infuriated him. The son of a bitch was only lucky he fled.

As if reading his thoughts, Holland reached up a hand to touch her cheek. "We better get some rest," she said, clearly uncomfortable.

"Yes," Doriana said. He was unable to keep the irritation from his tone, though she hopefully knew it wasn't aimed at her. "I think first light would be an acceptable time to leave. We'll travel light, let Leliana be rid of the rest of my things and they can catch up to us."

His friend smiled. "I'd rather have to catch up with them."

He watched her leave, sighting. Because so would he...  
***  
"I've been thinking, dwarf."

"Uh oh, that sounds dangerous."

Cassandra grunted, clenching a hand. Sometimes she wondered why she even bothered. Varric could be nothing but antagonistic, never short of a barb to throw, especially her way. It was true she had a hard time coming off as kind and friendly, but surely he had to see that she was trying?

She pulled in a deep breath through her nose and sat down with him at the tavern table. She would start again.

Varric looked up from his drink, eyebrow arching up. Perhaps he was wondering why the Seeker was deigning to sit down with him. He likely was also worried that it could turn into another argument.

"Varric," Cassandra attempted in a gentler voice. The dwarf looked like he'd nearly choked on air and she struggled not to get frustrated. Again. "I am aware you wish to journey back to Kirkwall soon. I was thinking... wondering..."

"Out with it already, Seeker!" Varric said, sounding one part amused and one part frustrated.

She shot him a short glare before sighing and rolling her eyes. What was the point? "Would you care for some company?"

Silence fell between them, so strong it even blocked out the rest of the busy tavern. A pin could have dropped between them and it would have been too loud.

"What? You?" Varric finally responded. He looked at her incredulously, the bridge of his nose wrinkling as if he couldn't believe this was really her.

"Heh." Cassandra crossed her arms and leaned back. "Perhaps," she said, unwilling to commit to it any longer. "I did drag you all the way out here, after all. It seems only fitting that I get you back home. Besides, I have no other real place to begin looking for the remaining Seekers."

"So, what? This is some sort of penance walk?" The dwarf snorted, diverting his eyes and going back to drinking his ale.

"No!" she insisted, face heating up.

"Have to make sure I stay out of trouble?"

"Never mind! Drop it," Cassandra growled. She pushed roughly to her feet, exiting the tavern.

Only a second later she heard it open and shut again.

"No, I'm seriously curious!" Varric called after her. She snorted disgustedly, realizing that if she headed to her room in the armory she would be ambushed. Instead she headed for the castle, thinking perhaps she would track down Leliana to ask for news on the assassination attempts. "Need to make sure I finish writing my romance serial perhaps?"

"I said forget about it!"

"No, you said to drop it. Which you know I won't so what could it possibly be!?"

Cassandra growled, spinning around to glare down the stairs at him. "Because I'm trying to be a friend, Varric! Is that so hard a concept?"

The dwarf's mouth fell open, all signs of antagonism falling away.

"I started off brash and rude, determined to get my answers at any cost!" Cassandra shouted, advancing back down the stairs toward him. "And you! You lied to me at every turn, ridiculing me! Yet we have fought at each other's sides for months now, shared this crazy adventure wilder than any tale you could ever spin. Is what I've done and who I am so difficult you could never consider me your friend?"

She once trusted him less than even Sera, somebody who didn't even know the rules well enough to know how to purposefully break them half the time. But despite herself, she came to respect the blasted dwarf! How could she not when he was so loyal to his friend to keep Hawke hidden all this time and risk Cassandra's wrath? That after Hawke was left in the fade, Varric sat and agonized for days over how to write letters back to her loved ones was not lost on Cassandra! Nor the fact that she would count herself lucky to have a friend even a fraction that loyal.

But of course Varric was just as stubborn as her. Once he made an impression there was no shaking it, no forgiveness. He was as unshakable as the Stone dwarves were said to go back to. Why she even bothered...

"So..." Varric said, holding out his hand. "Tomorrow then?"

It was Cassandra's turn to have her mouth fall open. To his credit, Varric said not a word and patiently kept his hand leveled toward her. It... couldn't really be that simple. Though after him accusing her of ulterior motives, she could hardly accuse him! Well, she could, it seemed only natural with their relationship. But for however long it lasted, she liked the idea of a friendly moment between them.

Even if they were attempting to kill each other again tomorrow.

She took the hand, shaking it once firmly.

"Tomorrow seems a little soon," Cassandra said after a beat, wrinkling her nose. "It gives us absolutely no time to prepare..."

"Oh for..." Varric turned away, hand to his forehead with a half laugh. "You don't rest, do you? But fine, for your information a little birdy might have mentioned traveling arrangements were already made for tomorrow. It'll be more convenient this way..."

"Oh."

Cassandra watched the dwarf shake his head and chuckled, walking back down the stairs toward the tavern. Where he was likely telling the last stories he would at Skyhold and laughing one last time with the friends he had here. The fact that, unless she'd come forward with her crazy idea to travel with him, that today could have been the last time she saw him made her uncomfortable.

She sighed, turning to actually talk to Leliana and make sure said travel arrangements were complete.  
***  
"One drop!" the woman shouted, shoving at the books. They fell to the ground in thunder and rumbling. "All I need is one drop!"

The boy paced up and down the banister, balancing, bother but keeping it hidden. Deep within himself where even he couldn't pry it loose. Not for now. Patience.

"They are trying," he said. "They can do it. But she won't relax, she can't relax and all she sees is blood. Rivers of it, choking-"

The woman threw a book. He ducked in time for it to miss, eyeing where it dropped. Then he straightened. "Try, Harder!"

The boy nodded and then was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the word of the day for this chapter is clearly 'antagonistic.' I'm a lot more comfortable with this chapter and its characteristics than the first. Also the plot gets rolling! I'm really excited for the things to come and I hope you are too.


	3. Slow and Steady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins anew and in some ways it seems like old, nostalgic times. But all stories hide the things people would sooner forget. Regret, pain, heartache. Some are harder to ignore than others

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were some conversations I meant to have happen in Skyhold. But since that was taking up so much time I decided to spread the conversations out over the trip. Some may never happen at all and that greatly saddens me. But these ones seemed important to the plot.

"What do ya mean they've left! Where the shite to?'

The Iron Bull winced at Sera's high pitched tones. They'd drunk a little too hard last night, reveling in stories about adventure and rebellion. The latter had not been one Bull could easily comprehend, not until lately. Not as something to really want without becoming a savage in the process. But time with the Inquisition, outside of the Qun, he'd begun to appreciate the appeal. he was still apprehensive of what might happen should he ever lose control, become like the Tal-Vashoth he'd so ofter fought against...

And then Krem would call him chief, Sera would tell him a dirty joke and the Inquisitor would smile, wink and call him 'Bull' in that tone she saved for him. Then he wouldn't worry so much. These people wouldn't let him lose control. They also needed him not to, and he found that meant a lot to him.

Except, of course, when they all left without him!

"Just what I picked up," Krem said, shrugging his shoulders. "Word is they left in the morning: The Inquisitor, Dorian, Varric and Cassandra. Maybe another ruin needed searching?"

"Yeah..." Bull huffed, rubbing his head and looking around the mostly empty tavern. Somehow that didn't sit right with him. There was too much crap going down for the boss to go traipsing around in ruins. Especially since the last time ended prematurely thanks to a Venatori ambush. "Guess you can't take everybody."

"Leliana has some ideas for using the Chargers in the meantime," Krem continued. "If you're interested, Chief."

Bull grunted. It might be important, it might just be to keep him busy. Either way, bashing some heads in might be a good distraction. "What do you think, Sera? Have enough arrows?"

"Pft. When don't I, yeah?"  
xxx  
Holland never realized how oppressive the air around Skyhold had become until they descended in the mountains and she tasted how fresh it could be. Perhaps it was simply that she missed the trees or hated being cooped up. Especialy with assassins out for her.

But she suspected it went a lot deeper than that.

'The veil is old here...'

'My heart.'

'Whatever happens...'

She shut her eyes tightly, trusting her hart Elgar to get them down the slope safely. The more distance she put between her and that place, the better she would feel. The more she could pretend to forget and be herself again, instead of Inquisitor Lavellan who has the worst luck in love.

Not that Blackwall and Solas were her first bad choices, present company simply didn't know that was all. Her past was strewn with bad choices. She jumped from disaster to disaster, riding the wave like she could claim to be a spectator while every single time chipped away at the rock inside her. She should have gone in expecting the damn conclave to explode and for her to some how get away from it!

A hero, even. Now that Corypheus was defeated and a new Divine was ascending to the Sunburst Throne on her good word. People loved her. For surviving something she still couldn't shake as not being her fault in some way. If she'd acted sooner, differently, better...

"You all have got to slow down!" Varric complained from behing them.

Holland opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder. Dorian and Cassandra were trailing even behind her as she had been subconsciously pushing Elgar to go faster. But feet behind them was Varric, bouncing along on his pony that he'd always refused to ride before now. Usually he shared the back of Elgar with Holland when she took the storyteller out on adventures. However with the long trip each mount had to take the weight of a person as well as supplies. Plus, there was no telling when they might be attacked.

"How is it you got him away from Kirkwall in the first place?" Dorian said glibbly.

"We were part of a caravan," Cassandra said, snorting slightly. She pulled back on the reins of her gelding, turning around to fall back with Varric and walk at the pony's pace. "And in a caravan you're only as fast as your slowest member."

"So glad I can pull everybody down," Varric grouched.

"That was not meant... hrm..."

"The Dalish have a story about the slow arrow that felled a beast that killed all warriors that tried to take it head on," Holland said, a smile quirking her lips that she knew surprised her companions after her weeks of being taciturn. "So, sometimes it pays to be slow. But if you don't lean back in that saddle, Varric, that pony is going to be hurting."

"My ass is going to be hurting. We'll have something in common," Varric continued to complain. "Besides, I lean back anymore, I'm going to fall off!"

"Don't worry," Cassandra said in her usual stop-with-the-nonsense tone of voice. "I'll catch you."

Only Holland was not confused by whether or not it was a teasing joke. By now she was used to the seeker's dry sense of humor.

"I feel better already..."  
xxx  
"How many more of those Dalish stories do you got?"

Varric couldn't remain quiet! It was killing him, it really was. Especialy since he was aware of just how slow they were all traveling simply because he couldn't keep up. Dorian and Holland would sometimes burst off for short amounts of time, but the Seeker remained next to him in silence. Though he was sure he caught her glancing at him from time to time.

He wasn't sure how interested he was in talking to the Seeker, however. The night before had been... interesting to say the least. Awkward and likely to never happen again was another way to put it. Andraste's ass, did he actually consider the woman a friend? Could he? Or did he somehow lose that ability in the aftermath of Blondie's betrayal and leaving Kirkwall?

Shit, he didn't want to be thinking about that. Yet here he was, basically retracing his steps back to that mess.

"Not many," Holland said, shrugging her shoulders. "It was always difficult to believed repeated stories of ghosts and shadows. How much of it was actually true? Now I know for certain that almost none of it was true."

"Ah..." Right. Sore subject. He hadn't ended up going to the Temple of Mythal. A trip to the fade and an Orlesian ball were quite enough for him. Dorian had been honored with that particular trip and Varric's usual place in Holland's team.

"You city dwellers had the more fascinating stories, anyways," Holland continued, grinning. "I had a friend that would tell stories about a city run by thieves the same way Tevinter is run by mages. It made me start to pick locks. I wanted to be just like the 'heroes' in those stories."

The Seeker snorted. Yes, had to be so difficult to her to view thieves and mercenaries as heroes. Yet she followed her 'Herald of Andraste' well enough for being a rogue. Guess Divine intervention, real or imagined, wiped away those teeny little faults.

To the woman's credit, she didn't say anything.

"A city run by thieves may be more honest than Tevinter, honestly," Dorian commented. "I take it this was a make believe city."

"Probably. My friend was prone to extravagant lies... He was so obvious about it, though, that I never looked for the ones that weren't so obvious." The Inquisitor's eyes grew heavy as she became lost in thought.

And for some reason it was Varric's fault! Since both Dorian and Cassandra turned to glare at him. Yes, shame on him! There was no subject safe that wouldn't send the Inquisitor into a fit of sadness. Give him a second and he could fix that! Sheesh. Absolutely no faith.

"I hear in Orlais there's a city where one day out of the year they take off their masks and the ugliest are given control of the city," Varric said. "The uglies is crowned The King of Fools and when the festival is over he gets to keep all of the gold thrown to him and is usually set for life. Even servants can be King for a day."

"You'd fit right in, Varric," Dorian drawled.

"I would think if its in Orlais it would be emperor or emperess," Cassandra said, cutting over Dorian's attempt at an insult.

"Sounds like it's meant to be making fun of Fereldan. They have a King," Holland said, crafting a careful smile to hide her face.

Varric shook his head subtly. This was going to be a long trip.   
xxx  
This was not meant to be in her pack...

Holland pulled the book out as she crouched into front of her tent, aware of Cassandra setting up the fire, Dorian setting some wards and Varric tending the mounts. She recognized the book immediately as one Varric wrote, probably the one he wrote specifically for Cassandra. But what was it doing here?

She thumbed through it, wondering if there was some note placed inside it. From an enemy? From Leliana paranoid even about their friends? Holland didn't smell or feel any sort of poison on the book.

But written inside the front cover in a scratchy hand writing she didn't quite recognize was a note.

Stories bring friends together. I like that.

Something about it nagged at the back of Holland's mind. She turned the book over and over in her hands, as if that would wring its secret message out of it. Something was making her spine tingle and she didn't like it!

"Argh! Sparkler, get your... thing off of me!" Varric shouted.

"Poor choice of words there," Dorian chuckled, waving a hand lazily to finish the wards. Everybody had looked up to see Dorian's dark brown mare trying to chomp away at Varric's ponytail.

"Please," Varric grunted. He reached up to push the horse's mouth away and only made the mare interested in teething at his leather gloves. "Andraste's ass! I get it, I'm tasty, now get off!"

Holland giggled and stepped in to save her favorite dwarf. The temptation of a sugar cube made the mare give up on Varric and after a good pat on the neck, she was fine to lean into Elgar for some comfort. The Hart looked up to Holland as if expecting some rescue as well. Holland laughed again, following Varric to the fireside.

"Disgusting creatures, I hate 'em..."

"They clearly like you," Dorian laughed.

Even Cassandra was holding back a smile... poorly. She also made sure to settle down opposite the fire from Varric.

"Speaking of liking you," Dorian continued, pulling out the brace of conies that Holland had taken down and butchered on the road. "How come I'm the only one here with a nickname?"

"That's not true!" Varric said immediately. "There's the Seeker!"

"You call her Cassandra sometimes, though," Holland pointed out. Though she was curious to know if Dorian had a point, or if he was shooting the breeze.

"And titles don't count," Dorian added. "Which means Inquisitor isn't a nickname either."

"Some people... don't come with a nickname," Varric said, shrugging. "If it doesn't come in the first five minutes it usually doesn't come."

"What about Hawke?" Cassandra spoke up. "Did you simply omit it or did she not ever get one? Since Champion doesn't count by these... 'rules.'"

"Oh, not another interrogation!" Varric glared over the fireplace at the Seeker. But it hardly took knowing him to see that there was no heat behind the glare. Only aborted sadness and a longing for a past, for hope. Holland knew that feeling.

"You loved her."

The fact that Varric couldn't meet her eyes answered that question. Not that it was ever a question. It had always been obvious. Why else would he risk Cassandra punching him to hide Hawke all of that time? It was evident in the way he'd said "You people have done enough to her." And in that small way he'd asked... asked where she was when Holland stepped out of the Fade.

"I thought he was with... what's her name, Bianca?" Dorian noted.

"Not that kind of love," Holland sighed. "But that's another example, right?"

"Lavellan..." Varric muttered, staring deep into the fire. "Please."

She did almost stop there, keep it to herself. But her hand squeezed as she thought, the corner of the book biting into her palm. Holland lifted it to look at the cover, turning it over once more. There still were no obvious answer, but it was an answer this time. They were amongst friends.

Varric was safe here, same as her. It'd be her turn soon. They couldn't keep quiet on her mood forever. Eventually they would push instead of distracting.

"They... we're too big for nicknames. You're too close," Holland said, keeping her voice gentle, eyes steady on the dwarf. "Because the nickname help you keep your distance. When we're nicknames and titles then we can just be characters in your books, not people. People only end up dissapointing and hurting you."

She wondered if the words made anybody else introspective. Certainly the same feeling could be placed on any of them. For one reason or another they'd all left home, family and country and ended up in the Inquisition. The reasons usually came down to people.

"Speaking of books," Holland continued. Varric looked up tentatively. "This one you'll be writing about the Inquisition, I can't be the main character."

"Oh, you my editor now?" Varric scoffed. But he looked thankful, happy to have things turned off him ever so slightly.

"No, but you know I'm right. I can't fail. I don't mean that in a bragging way, I mean as a character I can't appear to fail."

"And that doesn't make for a very good story, shit!" Varric ran a hand over his face. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I think it should be Cassandra's story," Holland said.

"What?" Varric and Cassandra said in tandem, looking up with various looks of horror and surprise.

"All right, this should be good," Dorian laughed.

Holland moved the book from hand to hand. She'd expected the response and still she found herself... nervous? Yeah, probably a little nervous. Strangely it was the man from Tevinter that she was most confident was her friend. No matter what by this point. Hopefully. She did mean to push about that slavery thing eventually.

But for now... Cassandra respected her, Varric trusted her. That didn't mean she couldn't stumble over her words and accidentally push them away.

She was tired of that.

"Yours and Cassandra's actually," Holland continued. "It has been from the moment she interrogated you. It's the perfect story: headstrong woman with a purpose and the loveable foil. Different ways of life, same path."

"You write it then!" Varric grouched. His lips pursed in an almost ugly manner, half glaring at her. She wasn't sure if it was defensive or if she actually stepped in it.

"I would," Holland said, shrugging and trying not to look uptight. "But then how would I get Cassandra to read it?"

"What exactly does that mean?" Cassandra snapped.

"What I mean is that stories bring people together," Holland said, holding the book out to Varric. She had to nudge him with it a little before he'd take it. "Let's make sure it's the right one."

"I suppose... since we'll be stuck together for awhile..." Varric muttered.

She winked and spotted him fighting with a smile. "That's the spirit."

"I am still confused," Cassandra said.

"What else is new?" Varric chuckled, opening the book up.

"What is that? What are you doing?"

"Settle down, Seeker... and try not to turn too red."  
xxx  
The little girl looked up from helping stir the stew. She was sure she heard something out there in the desert. She was worried it would be those monsters again, the ones that killed Mommy and Daddy. That was why the nice old woman told her to join the caravan and leave this place. Too many of those monsters.

She went back to stirring the stew when she heard a noise again. She looked up and sure enough a person was walking toward them.

People shouted and gestured with weapons they didn't look comfortable with. The person, a lady dwarf she looked like, held up her hands. "I was only hoping you could spare some water. I've been travelling farther than I should have and I didn't stock up. Damnable luck."

Looks were exchanged, whispering...

"What can you give in exchange?" the girl asked. That was what Daddy would have said. He was always trading. Even if they didn't have money, he saw the worth in anything. Most dwarves only believed in money but Daddy was different.

The woman was wearing a hood but her smirk was visible. "Well, let's see. I travelled light and there's not much to hunt out here. I am a bard though, so how about a story?" When nobody argued against it, the woman swept her cloak back and sat down on a rock, pushing her hood back to reveal her face. Brunette braids hung down the side of her face and she had the marks of Orzammar emblazoned on her face in deep purple. The girl saw them in books once. "How about the Hero of Ferelden. Is that one still popular?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized as I was playing through Inquisition and avoiding my fanfic that Bull wouldn't have just let Holland leave, not when there's assassins after her and not now that he's Tal-Vashoth and sort of relies on her. She needs a bodyguard! So I spent an hour trying to rethink the entire journey bringing Iron Bull along and that seemed like too much work. I have too many characters around already.
> 
> Also, for those that don't know the story of the Slow Arrow I would suggest looking it up. It's a story about Fen'Harel that gets told in Masked Empire to Briala from a Dalish elf. I don't think Lavellan knows it as a Fen'Harel story. Like most things with the Dalish, it's been retold so many times that it's become something else.


	4. Clouding Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing hurts worse than goodbye. Walking her friends steadily to where they will say goodbye and she must return on her own might do it. She is becoming sick of helping people abandon and leave her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you love it when characters do things you weren't expecting? I was expecting to get further along in the plot than I did. But then Dorian had to open his mouth again and again and again...
> 
> But there is some action here!

Ice blasted her side with cold burning. Holland staggered forward, trying to escape. But the Despair Demon was relentless, pummeling her physically and emotionally. Wouldn’t it be so much easier to drop the bow? Wouldn’t it be easier to lay down and wait to see if her friends dragged her back up? What if they couldn’t or wouldn’t?

 

Shit, she was taking them all to places where they could _leave_ her anyways! She’d be on her own soon anyways.

 

Fire blasted over her shoulder and Holland shrieked, throwing herself sideways. Her shoulder and ear tingled, remembering the Venatori ambush weeks earlier. The pain, though she knew psychological, flared up and she clutched at her head.

 

“Come on, Holly, get a grip!” Varric shouted at her.

 

She gasped in stinging breaths. No, she didn’t want to get a grip. She wanted to fall to pieces right here and now. She wanted that fucking luxury but instead…

 

Iron gripped at her heart. She pulled a new arrow from her quiver and found her bow, blind from panic and imaginary pain. Her shot found the Despair Demon, exploding in its icy chest where it shrieked and faded away. Cassandra grunted, slashing at the last of the wisps, allowing Holland to close the rift they’d stumbled across.

 

With the vanishing of the tear in the veil, heavy silence fell over the crowd.

 

That was, until Dorian threw his staff to the ground and it clunked on rocks. He stormed toward Holland, face a mask of rage and pain.

 

“What the hell was that?” he shouted.

 

“I had it perfectly in order!” Holland retaliated, defending her roughed up insides and fears of abandonment with the anger Dorian so sorely wanted right now. “I didn’t need your help.” She flashed a short glare to Varric to let him know he was included in this.

 

“No, it’s perfectly clear you did!” Dorian shoved a finger in her face. She instantly wrinkled her nose and leaned back to escape it. “That thing would have killed you and you would have let it! What is wrong with you?”

 

“Be still,” she hissed, smacking his hand aside. “I am the Inquisitor and I will not tolerate being lectured like a child.”

 

“Venhedis!” Dorian swore, throwing his hands into the air as he spun around. “I will-”

 

“Enough! Both of you calm down and take a breath!” Cassandra shouted over the top of them. Her roughhewn face was drenched in sweat, her shield still hanging from her exhausted arm. She looked about ready to drop.

 

Dorian breathed out through his nose, eyes tunneling through the air to reach their “Inquisitor.” He obviously had more to say but already Holland could feel the fight slipping out of her. Slipping until she felt hollow except for that rock she clung to at the edge of the gaping chasm.

 

She had to not need them because she’d be alone soon anyways.

 

But Dorian was right. She had needed the help. White noise blared in her head at the prospect of losing them too and what she would do without them.

 

She… she couldn’t…

 

“Let’s make camp, shall we?” Varric suggested in a softer voice.

 

They all of them nodded numbly. Dorian was the first to leave, hiking out to find where their mounts had wandered off to.

 

“Check our provisions,” Holland suggested to Cassandra gently.

 

The warrior woman nodded, stripping herself of her shield and sword immediately at the invitation.

 

Xxx

 

_You can feel it. It’s cleansing, calming, certain but your feet drag. You’re close though. It’s closer, it’s…_

She woke from the dream of the dark corridors of the dead with smoke choking her airways. It was thick and black, filled with the garish scent of dead flesh and bones. Holland didn’t speak but managed to find Cassandra’s shoulder in the dark to shake her awake. A quick gesture had them both moving to arm up and wake the men.

 

“It could just be a funeral,” Varric suggested, whispering regardless. “A really big funeral…”

 

“And my uncle could be a monkey,” Dorian hissed. “Now shut up, dwarf.”

 

The mage was clearly still sore from the fight the evening before. There was little Holland could do right now and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to any other time. A fight could be good. A fight meant distance. Hurt feelings now instead of later.

 

It meant relying on him less.

 

They cleared the rocky hill and found the village, burning. The smell of blood soaked dirt being kicked up by the armored boots of soldiers choked Holland’s mouth. She gagged, hand coming up to cover her eyes.

 

“Is that…” Varric began.

 

“It can’t be!” But by Cassandra’s incredulous voice is sounded like there was actually little arguing with Varric’s assement.

 

Curiosity breaking through her haze of nausea, Holland checked the banners of the attacking army. She sighed, wondering if this had to be her duty. If she was required to do more than send a raven to King Alistair to deal with his encroaching neighbor.

 

But it was she that put Gaspard on the throne in Orlais. Fereldan would certainly demand she have dealing with her supposed ally. She could hear the accusations of how a dirty Dalish elf couldn’t be trusted with politics already. Good. She didn’t want the job anymore anyways! And what should she care about the borders between one country and the next? Neither were particularly good for her people.

 

And yet she knew she thought that only by reflex. She forgot about race as easily as she forgot about borders. All with the resounding wondering of ‘Why care?’

 

None of this was her home.

 

“What’s the plan?” Varric asked as they watched the storehouse being ransacked.

 

Holland shrugged her bow back over her shoulders, turning back around. “We hope we can warn the next village in time.”

 

“You’ll… abandon them?” Cassandra sounded torn and confused in her accusation. The Chantry Seeker in her wanted justice for all of the people slaughtered or helpless down below. The soldier in her knew they were out classed and out matched.

 

“I didn’t bring an army in my pack, did you?”

 

“Damn, I’m fresh out,” Dorian joked dryly.

 

Despite herself, Holland smiled.

 

Xxx

 

“Dorian!”

 

Varric swerved to the side to avoid having his head come in contact with the horse brush as it sailed across camp. The mage under accusation lifted his head from his lazy reading to glare daggers toward the furious elf. They’d been at their throats for days now. The fact that they came across another ransacked village didn’t help the mood.

 

“And what is it I can do for you this time?” Dorian drawled. “I am ever at your service.”

 

“You were in charge of the mounts this time!” Holland screeched. The little pony whickered nervously and the gelding pawed once at the ground. This had nothing to do with the mounts or she wouldn’t be oblivious to them being riled up.

 

“They’re brushed, they’re fed, they’re blanketed.” Dorian paused to flip a page. “What more could you possibly ask of me?”

 

“I know your standards of ‘brushed’ are ‘let the slave do it’ where you’re from,” Holland said, advancing on her thrown brush. “But out here our mounts rely on us and us alone. Did you bother checking their hooves? Your mare had a rock the size of Varric’s nose stuck in there! Not to mention Elgar was still covered in sweat.”

 

“What did my nose do to deserve that?” Varric laughed.

 

And was promptly ignored. Figures.

 

Dorian slammed his book shut, staring up at his friend with unrestrained fury in his face. “Well pardon me for some having some gaps on my education, your holiness! I’ll get right on correcting that.”

 

“Don’t bother. I’ll finish your job.”

 

Unseen to Holland as she turned her back was the spasm of pain on Dorian’s face. This infighting was the last thing any of them needed. They were still a week from Kirkwall and at this rate Holland was surer to walk them over a cliff to spite Dorian while he stubbornly didn’t place a barrier on any of them. Basically they’d be dead.

 

Oh what he wouldn’t give for Chuckles to be here to talk Holland down from her anger. Instead, Varric walked up to Dorian, making sure she was out of earshot.

 

“When are you going to apologize?” Varric asked.

 

“Do just come right out and say whatever it is you feel necessary to say about things that don’t involve you,” Dorian sighed, opening back up his book. “Because I hardly feel as if I have anything to apologize for.”

 

“Hey, she’s not the one leaving us.”

 

Dorian’s hesitated at the corner of a page, pulling back then moving to grab the page again.

 

“So either you’re oblivious to how she feels and are an asshole on accident,” Varric continued. “Or you know and are an asshole on purpose. Which is it?”

 

“Neither,” Dorian grumbled, pushing to his feet. “Because it’s none of your fucking business.”

 

“What did you do this time, dwarf?” Cassandra said, returning from finding firewood.

 

“Why is it always my fault?”

 

Xxx

 

She was oblivious to something and she didn’t like it.

 

Cassandra grit her teeth as once again she came back to camp to Dorian and Holland arguing over something. This time it seemed like with good reason, but it was likely just an excuse to argue. Again. Varric had given up trying to break up the fighting, instead focusing glumly on his writing. The scratching of his quill in his journal was masked by the Inquisitor’s grunt of frustration.

 

“You’re perfectly welcome to do what you please, Dorian,” she snapped.

 

“Oh good, I’ll just attack an army by myself then!”

 

“Four isn’t going to be much better than one!”

 

“We could at least try something! That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

 

“Don’t tell me what it is I do or don’t do. You don’t decide that!”

 

“No, but I thought as your friend you’d listen to my council.”

 

Holland’s face screwed up, almost purple from her anger. At the same time, her eyes appeared glossy and red rimmed. It could be from lack of sleep; Cassandra heard her murmuring and tossing most nights. But more than likely she was a heartbeat away from crying, something Cassandra had never seen the Inquisitor do before.

 

When Holland spoke again, her voice was pitched down low and dark. “Advisors give council.” She spun on her heel and left the campsite.

 

Varric shut his journal with a noisy clap. “Now you’ve done it, Sparkler.”

 

“She wants to help and yet she does nothing!” Dorian insisted, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of where Gaspard’s army gained a foothold in Ferelden upon the bones and the livelihood of simple farmers.

 

“Not nothing!” Cassandra defended. Though in her heart she couldn’t help but agree with the mage. “I have successfully sent out ravens to Denerim and Skyhold. They will be warned of the army soon.”

 

“And in the meanwhile innocent people are being slaughtered or starved of their own food. The Holland I know wouldn’t stand for this.”

 

“The Holland you knew had a goal,” Varric sighed. “And friends to back her in that goal. Now she has neither.”

 

A hollow silence rushed in after Varric’s declaration. The weight of the truth pressed on Cassandra harder than the heaviest armor she’d ever worn. Any of them might have argued, after all they were still her friends.

 

But arguing that people that came together for a cause who so easily left once the cause was over could be counted as true friends was difficult. It could be done… But Cassandra could certainly see how it’d be little comfort for Holland.

 

This was what she was oblivious to this whole time and it gave her no comfort to know.

 

Xxx

 

The boy let out a breath as the elf finally left the protective circle. Left with her guard down, her heart down, her eyes unseeing. He gestured for the assassins to move in; recently no more than bandits their hearts had been turned to one purpose.

 

The elven woman noticed their moving presence immediately. It turned out she was far from unarmed. A dagger slid into her palm, lashing out into one assassin’s heart. Something about it stirred the boy, a funny clenching feeling in his chest.

 

The second assassin was smarter and faster. He circled and feinted, trying to get on the elf’s weaker side. On a normal day that would have been much more difficult, but tonight she was exhausted, sloppy. She managed to avoid being jabbed with daggers but a blunt attack to her head made her fall, dazed, to the ground.

 

It was done then.

 

The boy began to leave the shadows as the assassin bent over to bring his blade to the elf’s skin… An arrow sped through the night air, burying itself in the assassin’s chest. He looked at it in shock, eyes wandering to find the boy in the bushes. He died before he made it.

 

The boy froze, hearing the armored footsteps coming down the hills toward his quarry. He might be able to grab her and disappear before they reached her. But the thought of the archer with that fine of eyesight made the boy turn and leave instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Slow burn on my plot, I apologize. But there are some hints scattered in here. The next couple of chapters ought to get the ball rolling


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